The Price Worth Paying
by cannibalisticshadows
Summary: Belle is the widowed healer of her village. Just when she thinks her life couldn't get any better, a strange young boy shows up to change her life forever.
1. Chapter 1

The last thing Belle's late husband said to her was, _"No normal man would take their time with you."_

That was seven years ago.

Belle's been a widow for all those years. She's been living in a simple way in her quiet home, tending to the ills and ailments of her fellow villagers. It was an unexpected life style for her, but throughout the years of tending to her late husband's hunting wounds and his companions', soon everyone came to her for healing.

She couldn't remember how healing become such a huge part of her life; before, she only desired to live her life immersed in books. When Gaston was alive, he'd come home often enough with injures from a bad hunt or tavern fight, bleeding or drunk as a skunk. She'd been the one to patch him up. She's been the one to kiss his boo-boos. It gave her something to do with the man—she'd never cared much for him, and didn't like to think why they married to begin with, but she tried to make their sham of a marriage work. Her dream of adventure, the kind in her books, was thrown away long ago. Gaston had never encouraged her to read her silly books anyway. He only seemed interested in getting her pregnant with his sons.

Things became very strained between them when it became apparent she could not conceive.

Belle sighed as prepared to go to bed that early autumn night. In the morning she would have to go to Granny's to order more stock for her trade. It was not unusual for her patients to run through her supplies like a tornado, especially if her little town had a flush of travelers come by. Most of the passer byers had little money, and therefor unable to pay well—or at all. She never had a serious problem with this, but it became difficult to replenish her supplies with no coin.

Today she only saw to one person: an elderly woman she knew somewhat well. It had been painfully quiet otherwise.

Sometimes she wished she had someone to take care off—someone small she could nurture and hold close, to love and fuss over.

That deep, unexplainable feeling of wanting to mother, of needing to nurture was sometimes so painful it made her stain her books with tears. Marrying again, however, was out of the question. In three years she would be thirty, and not to mention barren and strange and too busy with doctoring others.

Miserably, she crawled into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep…

She was jolted awake not an hour later.

It had rained today; the great gray skies stormed most of the day, leaving a fine thick mist across the ground. Animals became more scarce as the cold set in, and preditors became more desperate for an easy meal. Due to this, many farmers kept their livestock inside, killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

So it was unusual to hear the distant cry of a young goat or lamb the distance. The distressed bleat was audible even through her heavy white curtains that blocked the cold from entering her home. It came like a morning whine of a ghost, lost somewhere out in the night. She was uncertain if the sound was even real; perhaps she was dreaming.

But Belle could not fall back asleep, and when it became clear this was no dream she swung her legs over the side of her cot and stood. It had to have been no where near dawn, for the night sky outside her window was dark and starless, the stormy clouds still hovering above like ominous storm clouds brewed by an angry wizard. Clucking at her own overactive imagination, Belle picked up a blanket at the end of her bet and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shall.

She slipped into a pair of elk-skin boots and shuffled to the door, stepping outside in nothing but what she'd just put on and her shift. Cold nipped at her, coaxing a fine coat of goose flesh to grow upon her skin. However, Belle was not deterred, and her curiosity and concern for the animal crying in the distance spurred her on to find the course of the problem. She did not worry if a wolf had caught a neighbor's goat, for the cries were firm and constant, not one of something dying. Maybe a young animal was caught in a trap or bush—it wouldn't be the first time. Feeling brave, she walked toward the source of the distressful call, her boots crunching the crisp wet grass beneath her steps.

It was dark and foggy outside. Dark enough that she could just barely see the outline of her hand, but not the deeper details. She felt her breath came out in large puffs and air, fogging the soft wind. She pulled her shall around her tighter, feeling a shiver shake her bones. Belle used to like the cold, when she was still married and young. Gaston hated the cold. Now the only reason for her to go out during winter or autumn was to do business, not for pleasure or escape acts.

After several minutes, Belle became closer and closer to the sound. It came from just the edge of the forest, where thick brambles spotted about. To her increasing worry, she began to make out figures in the fog as she moved closer.

 _"Baaa!"_ cried the animal, hidden in a rustling shrub.

"Hit it again!" Cried a boy. "Just look at the freak" It was John, the blacksmith's son, if she recalled correctly. He brandished a long stick to whack at the shrub, and in response the animal trapped within cried out in fear and pain. Besides John, there was his little group of troublemakers. She did not bother to see who all was there before a burst of adrenaline shook her to the core.

Instantly, she approached the scene with speed and a face that told all she ment business. "What in the gods' name are you all doing!?"

The boys gasped and froze, heads swiveling around to see. Their eyes widened comically. John hid his stick behind his back just as his friends stood ramrod straight. One of them had been holding up a stone, but dropped it like it was a piece of burning coal.

"What's the matter with you children?" Belle demanded, approaching John and snatching the stick from him. "Beating some poor defenseless animal like some heathens—!"

"It's a monster!" shouted one of the boys.

Belle, in the perfect position to give them all nice long lectures and possible boxes on the ears, paused and stared at the one who spoke. "What?"

"Look!" John yelped, pointing at the shrub. "We saw it coming into town so we chased it away. It's gonna steal someone's mama!"

"I beg your pardon?" She blinking owlishly, wondering if this was some ploy for them to get her distracted enough to run away before she could have a strong word with them. Yet to their credit, the goat—or so she assumed—let out a pained whine and yelled—

 _"Please leave me alone!"_

The boys looked expectantly to her. Belle stared back in confusion, glancing back and forth between the shrub and them. It was one thing to torture an animal, but another _person—?_

"It's a goatman," John said, holding his hand up in defense. "My Grandpa says they steal women and children!"

"What kind of rubbish are you all on about?" Belle rejoined, gripping the switch harder. She had half a mind to use it on the boy, but she turned to the shrub and pulled a branch backward to see the poor soul. "I swear, I'm going to tell each and every one of your mothers, and—"

What she saw first was a sheepish tail flicking around wildly, and two abnormal humanoid, quadruped long legs—

It was a goatman. A goatboy!

At Belle's gasp, the boys dispersed and scattered. She could not chase after one, much less them all, even if she tried. She would not, too, for she dropped the stick and began to pull away some of the branches frantically.

Tentatively, a young creature emerged once he was free of his branchy cage. He was young and naked, with the torso of a boy barely borderline of puberty. A tangled cloak was dripped in his hands, and he visibly shook as he stared at her.

Belle could not believe her eyes. This was a creature of myth, but yet it stood before her shaking in the cold on two very nonhuman legs, with floppy semi-erect ears that should have been on a goat or sheep's head, not a boy's.

"You're hurt," she broke the silence first, making out an agitated red mark across on his waist. Naturally she circled him, trying to inspect the damage the boys had done. His back was worse, but it was not awfully so. She didn't see any blood—but it was foggy and dark.

The creature sniffed and shuffled away from her a bit with his head lowered, yet his eyes watched her steadily. Her eyes lowered to his abnormal legs. "T-Thank you for stopping them," he said quietly.

"Um, you're very welcome…" she felt her breath hitch. Gathering her wits, she took a deep breath before speaking again. "You're a faun" Belle breathed in disbelief, her free hand rose to her thumping heart, the other gripping her shall around her tighter. The young creature's goatish ears bobbed as he nodded shyly, his thick curls of hair framing his youthful face.

"My name is Baelfire."

Baelfire, she echoed in her head. It was an unusual name, yet strong and unique like this little kid before her now, still trying to fix his twisted cloak. He stood on luxuriously furred legs, bent backwards and forwards like a goat's, and he stood on the most delicate pair of cloven hooves Belle had ever seen. His fur coated the majority of his legs, stopping below his waist right at his hips. Atop the young faun's head were two protruding horns, at least an inch tall each.

When it became apparent Baelfire was having some difficulty fixing his cloak the right way, Belle held her hand out to him to take it. He eyed her suspiciously, but handed it anyway. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Baelfire. May I ask why you're out here all alone? Are your parents near by?" She asked, glancing about the edge of the forest.

"My papa, he…" Baelfire started, his beautifully brown eyes alight with worry and fear. His lower lip quivered. "I'm looking for the human Mistress Belle, the healer of this village. Do you know where I can find her?"

Belle's eyebrows shot up. "That would be me."

Baelfire's eyes bighted as if she'd handed him a pouch full of gold. Tail wagging, he let out a loud sigh of pure, exhausted relief. "Oh, thank the havens!" He cried out, his wariness toward her vanishing like smoke. The faun leapt closer and wrapped his skinny arms around her, squeezing her tight in a big bear hug. "I've been looking for you for so long."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked, finally fixing his cloak. She gently nudged him off her long enough to wrap the clothing around him, tying the strings at the neck. It was bad enough that they were standing out here in the dark and cold, and she wanted to take a better look at the faun's injuries. Gently, she nudged his shoulder to guide him toward her home. Once they were there would she let herself gawk at him. Politely.

"My papa, he's hurt," the young faun said frantically, pressing against her as if they were long time friends use to each others company, not strangers. "Everyone says you're the best. You have to help him."

"Is your papa here?" Belle prompted hurriedly, her head shaking left and right to look for another faun that might have been around. However, it appeared only Baelfire was here.

"No. He's home, in a real bad way. I need you to come with me to him." Belle pursed her lips at this. It was odd enough that this strange little boy showed up in town. Surely, he had to have different customs than humans, but faun or no—what parent let their child go off alone like this? An instantly dark thought crossed her mind; what if Baelfire's father was too ill to move? How on earth could such a brave little faun like him go off all alone? Belle wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and warm him up by her hearth.

"Well, Baelfire, let's get you inside first and tend to you first, alright?"

Baelfire said nothing, and buried his wee head against the curve of her breast as if he was a shy animal. They shuffled through the fog and along the path she'd walked earlier.

Once inside, she shut the door behind her with a soft click, locking it to make sure. Flitting about, she pulled the curtains closed. "Make yourself at home, sweetie," she said, instantly going to the hearth to light a fire. She had a rug here; it was dark purple had not terribly clean, but it felt soft and comforting under her knees.

The young faun's hooves clicked on the wooden floors. She listened to him as he approached her, going still once he was, she gathered from where he walked, in her kitchenette. Once the fire was lit and the wood burning did she finally turn to him.

He stood ramrod straight by the table, head down and his face serious. Dark sable eyes flickered back and forth between items in her home, as if he had never seen such things, but his entire body was visibly stiff and tight. Baelfire still wore his cloak about his shoulders, and shifted his weight tensely between legs.

"Come on, take your cloak off," she beckoned sweetly, urging the boy to come closer to the hearth as she retrieved some bandages, herbal ointments, and a small wooden basin of water, of which she warmed in a caldron over the fire.

Baelfire did come, but he refused to take his cloak off. Both of them settled on the floor at her hearth. "We need to leave quickly," he said in a desperate voice. "Papa needs you."

Belle soothed his hair back, admiring the way his ears quirked. It pleased her to see he had little to no qualm about her touching him. "Okay, Baelfire, we'll get to him as soon as possible," she said patiently, pulling the garment off him. There were angry red whelps across his back from John's switch, as well as bruises from what Belle could only guess were from stones. She shook her head, a bitter anger rising in her chest that felt as if it would burst into shards.

But first she had to tend to Baelfire. She did not have time to dwell on her ire, or stare in wonder at his goatish anatomy.

"Is your father alone?" she asked, taking a cloth to soak in the water, then bringing it to the boy's skin. He gasped in shock, but managed not to squirm too terribly.

"I—I hope not. Our neighbors try to help—but papa's so weak—" With is big brown eyes watering, Baelfire choked up over his words. He looked quite small in the fire's light, shivering and sniffling.

"It's going to be alright," she told him firmly. "But I can't just leave right now. I can get someone to cover for me while I come with you, but we must prepare first, alright?"

"A—Alright."

Belle cleaned his back with thorough strokes. His skin felt like any other boy's, smooth yet not as soft as a girl's. She imagined that Baelfire liked to play outside often. "Explain to me your father's ailment?" She asked him, dropping the cloth back into the basin beside her.

"He—Papa hurt his right ankle real bad, once, when I was a baby." Baelfire explained, staring into the fire. "It healed okay, but he walks with a staff. Twelve days ago me and Emma—my friend—were playing in the meadow. We didn't see it, but—but there was a hunter's trap—And papa—" He hiccupped.

Belle was solemnly silent as she listened to his tale, patting his back dry with a new cloth. The fire crackled and danced with orange-yellow lights and shadows

"We had to get Emma's pops to get him free. It was a net thing that jerked him by the hoof real hard. It was his bad one. It held him upside down for—for a while. We didn't find Emma's pops until later, cuz her parents were harvesting while papa watched us. When we got back—there was a hunter there—"

She didn't dare breath.

"He was trying to cut papa off by his hoof."

"God in heaven," Belle whispered to herself, grabbing the small jar of greenish, leaf-smelling ointment. Baelfire did not speak until she began treating his back.

"Emma's pops chased the bad man off, but papa was really hurt," he said after a while. "There—there was a lot of blood. Emma's mamma tried to help him, but we didn't know what to do. He's gotten so sick—the wound leaks yellow and white stuff and he has the hot sweats. He can't walk."

"It's inflamed," Belle explained, rubbing the greenish cream on his marks and bruises. "When someone gets a bad cut or wound, it's important to keep it clean, and patch it up."

"They tried to patch him up, but—"

Belle glanced at Baelfire's legs. He sat with his knees up, the lower half of his leg laid out, his hock and fetlock touching the carpet, while his cloven claws flexed nervously. The fur on his legs, she noticed, was a bit matted and tangled.

"Emma's mamma said he might die— _Please_ , Mistress Belle," Baelfire said passionately, abruptly, spinning around so fast the ointment Belle was currently applying smeared. "You must help him. Everyone says you're the best."

"I wouldn't say that," Belle said humbly, swallowing a thick ball of saliva down her dry throat. "But I will come to see your papa… But I don't know much about your kind, I'm afraid."

Nodding seriously, he turned back around to bare his back to her. She continued to apply the ointment. "We all bleed the same."

"Yes, I suppose we do, Baelfire."


	2. Chapter 2

Baelfire was not so compliant once she'd bandaged his injuries.

It had taken a considerable amount of convincing to get a morsel of food down him. He'd been quite the abstainer as he flat out refused to eat, stating he would not lick so much as a crumb while his father lay dying out there. While she understood the boy's distress, able to sympathize on some degree with her own father, she would not stand by and let him starve.

Speaking of starving, she could see the faint outline of the young faun's ribs. Feeling a strong, sudden sense of worry at the skinny waist he had, she grew bolder and more persistent in him eating. "You must eat," she said firmly, following the wondering faun whom clopped about her cottage with his short tail held high. "If you don't, I'll have no idea how to find your father if you drop from an empty belly."

"Eating is a pleasure in times of crisis," the goatish boy said, as if quoting something. He was beginning to show a slightly stubborn side to her, but now was not really the time. She had to feed him and get ready for their journey. "We need to leave quickly, quickly Mistress!"

Holding back a frustrated sigh, she patiently said, "Yes, I understand, Baelfire, but no one can care for another without seeing to their own needs first!"

Baelfire's tail flicked at this, pivoting on one hoof to turn to face her. He seemed older than his years, but was like a dog with a bone in his determination. With narrowed eyes, he questioned her agitatedly. "Why aren't you getting ready?"

"Because you need to eat," Belle said, layering the strictness in her tone of voice, "and I need to get supplies and elixirs to help your papa. I can't do that right away, it's dark out. Do you understand?"

He sniffled. Plucking at a bandage on his shoulder, he asked more softly, "Then we go?"

"Yes, and then we go."

"Okay," he said finally as he followed Belle as she beckoned him to the table. She fed him rolls of bread and cheeses, fussing over his lovely brown curls of hair. She felt the urge to brush it for him, and he seemed to have no issue with her half-hearted tutting over him, but managed to keep her hands to herself while he ate.

"Baelfire, how far is home?"

He waited a moment to shallow a mouthful of food. Gulping, he said, "'bout three days."

"I'm sure we can get there much faster on a steed. My father has a wonderful mule named Foy. She's the daughter of our prized horse Philipee."

"That sounds good."

They settled into more silent, but only for a moment. Belle was curious, and wanted to know as much as possible about Baelfire and his father. "What's your father's name, Baelfire?"

"Rumple."

"Rumple," Belle echoed, feeling a peculiar feeling of warm flow through her cheeks and her chest. It felt like a rush of heat internally, and for a short moment she wondered if she'd been hit with a fever. Knowing that it wasn't possible, she blinked rapidly to shake it off as fast as it came. Odd.

"Well, in the morning," she instructed, forcing herself to forget about that strange feeling, "I'll take your bandages off and we'll head into town. I'm going to bring you to my father's house so he and his assistant Ode can prepare Foy for the trip. Maybe you can get a bath, too," she added, eyeing his furred legs and hair. Licking her thumb, she reached out a whipped a bit of dirt on his chin.

"Okay," he said, right before letting out a big yawn.

She noticed the dark crescent shapes beneath his eyes, and the worn, worried look that etched lines above his brow. Poor dear. He's bone-tired, Belle told herself.

"Come, wash your face and let's get you to bed."

"But—"

"No buts about this, little man."

With a sigh, Baelfire finished eating and splashed his face with water at the counter pump. While he cleaned up Belle prepared one of the cots she used for patients. She gathered several furs and quilts, plumped the pillows, and turned the top the blankets down to make the bed more inviting. Her heart felt deeply for Baelfire; tomorrow they would begin their journey to his father—and may the gods bless him until then.

Baelfire crept up behind her as she was loosing herself in her thoughts, heavy eyed and rubbing his belly. Ushering him closer, she helped him climb into the bed and under the covers. There, she tucked the blankets up around until his ears, which twitched in response. "Mistress?" He asked quiestly.

"You can call me Belle, honey," she said, running her hands through his hair, careful of his small horns.

"Belle," sniffed the faun, "you're gonna help my papa, right?"

She searched his eyes. They were so full of emotions no little boy should own, like two shiny brown crystals cracked with misuse. Gripping his shoulder reassuringly, she said firmly, "I am going to do everything in my power."

It seemed to sooth him. Nodding, he shuffled around until he got comfortable.

Belle patted him on the head one last time before rising to prepare for bed herself.

* * *

 _"Oh,"_ Belle moaned, rolling over onto her front. The forest floor was so cool and damp from morning dew, with soft tender grass pressing against her breasts. Her fingers snaked down her burning belly, prickling her sensed even more. She was so hot, throbbing between her legs with an itch within her that could only be scratched with something hard and long. Gasping, she stroked one finger over her clitoris.

A second pair of hands ghosted down her sweaty back. Unafraid and needy, she arched upwards and spread her thighs apart. _"Please,"_ mewled Belle. His knuckles brushed against her slippery folds, the hair on the backs of his fingers sparking jolts of delicious electricity throughout her body.

Devilish fingers joined hers, prodding and pushing against her flush folds. Slickness smeared easily, allowing her wondrously strange lover to push his fingers inside.

They were long and skilled, sinking into her molten sex in a smooth, single stroke. Moaning lowly, she rolled her hips in encouragement, thrilled to have her lover's free hand massage her hips and thighs. The digits inside her slid in and out, in and out, curling against her clenching walls. She bucked against him, sobbing against the lush earth. He was so good at this, made her feel things she'd never felt before, and did it all with eager gist.

Her pleasure came like a violent tide; washing over her and consuming her, dragging her down to the fiery depths of the purest ecstasy.

Crying out, she felt a daring tongue stab between her womanhood's lips, teasing and licking like she was the tastiest, most succulent meat. " _Yes!"_ She screamed into the grass, panting wildly. Sweat dripped out of every pore on her body despite the cool air, and he spread her vulva apart and stuck his tongue in even farther, circling inside as if he _could not put his tongue in her far enough._

She was so close, building and rising on pleasure beyond her darkest fantasies. Her lover's face was as wet as she, shaking his head and relentlessly, hungrily lapping at her juices. Even with his hooked nose against her more private area, he seemed only desperate in drinking down her fluids and dragging that wicked, dirty tongue of his across and in between her folds. He let out grunts and smacks, making the most glorious sounds with his mouth. Crooked teeth rubbed against her heated mound, gently nibbling her labia. " _Mmmm…"_

At his hum, she fell over the edge.

"I'm, I'm— _Aaah! Rumple!"_

* * *

Belle jerked awake.

She sat up panting, eyes wide in shock. What kind of dream **was that?** Belle questioned herself, pulling her knees up.

She's been practically humping her hand in her sleep, she gathered from the sticky dampness on her fingers. Her womanhood pulsed in need at her ridiculous dream, but she refused to dwell on it. Feeling ridiculous, she whipped her hand on the sheets.

It was just a big after sunrise. Soft morning light filtered in through the sliver of opening in her curtains, and cheerful birds sung right outside. Belle yawned and stretched, wincing at the tense muscles in her legs. She'd been a restless sleeper.

When her eyes fell over Baelfire, she nearly leapt out of her own skin.

He was awake, and was rustling around in her cupboards. With his back turned to her, she could see his wagging tail very clearly. The backs of his legs, too, and how he crouched down to inspect the contents of the cupboard. Being perfectly honest, Belle had wondered if the meeting with this faun had been as much of a dream as her strange lover.

"Good morning," she said, causing the young faun to bleat out in shock, turning around in a jump.

"Mistress Belle!" Squeaked Baelfire, spinning to face her. Clopping on the hardwood floor, he looked awfully whimsical. "You're awake! I tried to rouse you earlier, but you sounded like you were having a happy dream. So I waited."

"Yes," she deadpanned. "It was a happy dream." Abruptly, causing the faun to start, she clapped her hands and glided to her wardrobe. "Baelfire, we're going to go see my papa. Grab an apple if you'd like—oh, and take a scarf of mine! I bet it's chilly out."

* * *

Belle's father lived in the same place since she was born—the cottage right on the edge of town, secluded in by a beautiful patch of farm land and forest. Even seeing it upon the hill, the chimney already letting out a fine stream of smoke, sent her hearth into a flip-flop within her chest. Since Gaston's death, Maurice had begged her to return to her childhood home. Yet she refused.

Baelfire skipped excitedly beside her, happily munching on a crisp green apple. "That is your papa's home?" he asked with a nod toward her father's cottage, oblivious to the stares they received as they walked by. She had tried her best to tie up his cloak all the way, but his ungulate-d furry legs stood out like a sore thumb. His hooves clopped no differently than a goat's upon the cobblestones.

It was silly very early, but people were already working hard that morning. Carts drawn by large hooved animals marched by with heavy loads of goods, and people bickered and dealt all about in different scenarios. The shouts of "Bonjour!" were spoken here and there, specifically by people who hadn't had the pleasure of seeing Belle with her curious new charge.

With Baelfire's hand in hers, she led him over the bridge and the path that led to her father's home.

"Now, I'm going to introduce the two of you while I prepare a bath. I'd like for you to bathe while I go to Granny's for the things we will need."

"Who is Granny?"

"She's an elderly woman who runs a store across town. She and her granddaughter sell ordered goods. I go once every two weeks to stock up."

"Oh," the young faun said thoughtfully. "She has stuff to help Papa?"

"Yes," she replied softly, mushing up his hair. "Now, let's go meet my papa."

* * *

Ode answered the door as usual.

She was a mute girl, younger than Belle, with curly black hair and dark fair skin, and eyes as pure as the night sky. Because Belle had long since moved out of her father's home, there was no one else to do the chores she typically had to do. The small amount of farming, for example, was difficult for Maurice when he was busy with his inventions. However, a assistant to fill in for Belle was quick in order, and Ode, a neglected orphan, was the perfect candidate.

But now that Maurice was getting up in his years, Ode was more vital than ever to him. She did most of the work.

"Hi Ode. Is my father in?"

Ode smiled her sweet little smile, but once her eyes landed on Belle's companion, she visibly balked. Flickering her gaze back and forth between them, she finally nodded and motioned for Belle and Baelfire to enter.

Belle's childhood home looked no different than when she had left as a young woman. It smelled sweet like hay, and springtime flowers and autumn spice. The bookshelves were filled with stories she had adored as a adolescent, about adventure and forbidden love.

With her hand on Baelfire's shoulder, Belle followed Ode as the girl led them into the dinning room.

Maurice was sitting at the table, one big hand over his mouth as he let out a big yawn. On the table was an assortment of small gadgets and other tinkering objects, beside his mostly untouched breakfast.

Belle let out a small cough, approaching him gingerly.

The moment he looked up, the elderly man broke out into a wide, joyous smile. "Belle!" He greeted excitedly, lifting up in his chair with a shaky stance. "It's so good to see your face!"

In a bone-crushing hug, Belle laughed and patted him on the back. "I know. I'm sorry I haven't vistited in a while. Things have been busy at the infirmary."

"It's fine, my girl," Maurice sighed, letting go. He collapsed back into his chair with a heavy exhale, clearly exhausted. He looked so much older than ever, it seemed. His hair was white, and he had begun to grow a small beard. Her father was old, and there wasn't a drug in the world she could make that would stop that.

Before Belle could open her mouth, Maurice's cloudy blue eyes landed on the little faun. Baelfire huddled behind her, grasping the skirts of her dress shy, his head ducked down. Though she wanted him to cover his head, he refused to, claiming hoods and hats bothered his ears (and, Belle suspected, he found pride in showing off his budding horns).

"Well, who's this?" Maurice asked with a small laugh, smiling sweetly. He held out his hand in friendship, and Baelfire eyed him carefully.

She lovingly ruffled the faun's hair. "It's okay, Baelfire. This is my papa, Maurice."

"You are Belle's papa?" Baelfire prompted, stepping out from behind her. His hooved made little sound on the carpeted floor, but the alienness of them stood out like a beacon. But Belle knew her father would never turn a stranger away, especially one as young or as in need as Baelfire.

"Why, yes I am young man. Ode—pull up a chair for our young guest? Belle, where on earth did you find him?" He asked, gazing with deep wonder and admiration at Baelfire's goatish anatomy.

Belle coaxed Baelfire to sit once the mute maid pulled out extra chairs. "I found him last night. He's traveled a long way to find medical help for his father, Rumple."

Yet again, her chest swelled at the utterance of Baelfire's father's name.

"Well, I certainly can't think of a better girl than mine to do the job," Maurice boasted, patting Belle's much smaller hand. "Your father will be in exhalent hands, my boy."

"I know," Baelfire said, smiling.

Belle just prayed that it was so.


End file.
